Quicksilver
by Evelyn Reid
Summary: She had never been particularly stable; being saddled with sole responsibility for saving the world will do that to a person. He takes her to the edge of her sanity and back, and she lets him. She works hard, pushes herself, but for who? The world? Herself? Or...for him? Rated M for violence, language, and sexuality in later chapters. Spoilers: Main, Companion, and Guild questline
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've been writing and editing this for a very long time before posting it here. Don't rip me too badly to shreds. XD I don't own Skyrim or any associated characters.

* * *

Eletta tried and failed to keep her feet from dragging as she trudged through the Ragged Flagon. Delvin tried to speak with her, but she waved him away and continued on. She could feel Vex burning holes in her back, but right now she didn't quite care. The female thief was just pissed that Eletta had succeeded where she had failed. There would be time to deal with that later.

Once in the Cistern, she had to bite back a groan. _Why can't he just stay put in one damn place? _She stopped to lean on a crate, spurring the passing Niruin to put his arm on her shoulder.

"I'm fine," she snapped, shrugging him off before he could say anything. "Shouldn't you be training Cynric? His aim with a bow is still terrible."

"I'm not in need of a lecture of my duties, Eletta." He stepped back from her nonetheless. "Neither, it seems, are you. What job did Mercer send you on? You look exhausted."

"I'm _fine_," she reiterated. "Really. Never better. And it wasn't Mercer, it was Brynjolf."

Niruin's expression, though partially shadowed from his hood, evened out into one of understanding. "Ah yes. Of course it was Brynjolf."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The master archer ignored her, gesturing toward the training room. "He's in there, Eletta. Tread carefully. It's not wise to sneak up on him when his hand contains a dagger."

_Tell me something else I don't know._ Niruin walked off, but it was another minute before she hefted herself off the crate. All she needed was a rest, and she would get that rest as soon as Brynjolf got his damn report. Her archery trainer had been correct, and she found the Thieves Guild second-in-command practicing complicated combinations on a hapless dummy with a target painted on its front. She rested her body weight on the stone archway, watching him. His body was large and muscular, so how was it that he could move with more fluidity and grace than she had in one hand? Her slight frame and feminine, petite build were ideal for sneaking and thieving, and yet she was a clumsy pickpocket and lousy thief. This last job at Goldenglow Estates had done nothing but highlight all of her faults. If it hadn't been for Lydia, she never would have gotten off that godforsaken island alive.

"Why so late, lass?"

She nearly jumped, face growing hot in embarrassment at being caught staring. "What do you mean, 'so late'?" she asked, folding her arms over her chest.

"You've been gone a grand total of two days, lass." He stashed his dagger, approaching her with an amiable chuckle. "Did the job not go smoothly?"

Already in a foul mood, Eletta scowled from his words, reaching into the pouch at her side and whipping the Goldenglow document at him. "Job's done." _Two days? They expected it to take less than that?_

She turned away, bracing herself against the stones as the world suddenly spun. She ground the heel of her palm right above her right eye, fighting back the headache and dizziness. Brynjolf, meanwhile, had been saying something that sounded vaguely important, and she strained her focus to hear him.

"…give to Mercer. He'll know better than I do what to do with it."

"Bring it to him yourself." _Just hold out long enough to reach a bed. Any bed. I just need rest. _

"What's gotten into you, lass?" He frowned, putting his hand on her shoulder to turn her around. The young woman had never been this grumpy after a job. Usually she returned with a few shallow scrapes and a grin as big as Tamriel, eager to spout off just how well she'd aimed her bow, how Nocturnal had smiled on her lockpicking abilities, or what she had looted from an unsuspecting victim. She didn't succeed often without problems, so when she did, she made sure the whole Cistern was aware.

"Let go of me." She pushed his hand away, her tone firm, but her shove was strangely weak.

"Lass," he tried. When she still refused to turn, he tried another tactic. "Eletta."

The man had only said her name a handful of times in the entire length of their acquaintance. It would have given her pause, but she wasn't necessarily focused on him right now. He grabbed her again, her arm this time, and was shocked to find her uniform was damp and oddly sticky. _What in Oblivion…?_

She cried out as he came in contact with her arm, pulling away from him so hurriedly that she lost her balance and crashed to the ground. She clutched at her arm, and when Brynjolf looked down at his hand he realized why. Her blood coated his fingers, flowing from a rather large gash in her bicep. As he peered closer at her in the dim lighting, it was revealed that there were several slashes and puncture marks from arrows or maybe daggers. None were life-threatening, but the lass had to be in an outrageous amount of pain—no wonder she was so ill tempered.

His voice was gentler when he said, "You might want to get those wounds examined."

"I just need some _rest_," she said, her voice cracking. "There were dozens of bandits; the whole fucking place was crawling with them, every nook and cranny filled with the bastards—"

He lifted her up, the young woman wincing in pain, and carried her to her assigned bunk within the Cistern. "Your job was to infiltrate, lass, sneak in under their noses…"

She snorted, flinching as he removed her armor. Some of the wounds would scar, marring that milky white skin that was far too pale for her to truly be an Imperial. These weren't her first scars, wouldn't be her last, but he looked upon them with regret nonetheless. He removed her hood next, disturbed to find blood matting her golden hair.

"A head wound, lass?"

She grimaced as he cleaned it with a wet rag. "Warhammer."

"_Warhammer_?"

"Glancing blow. Sneaking is not my best skill, alright?" She closed her eyes as he wiped the blood and dirt from a cut above her left eyebrow. "I'm an archer. A sniper. I set up my post from afar just above a rock, and I pick off my enemies one by one. I don't barge into a house with _no_ idea of layout, _no_ clue of how many baddies are in there, and not enough space to draw my bow."

"Yet there was enough space for a warhammer?"

She opened her eyes just long enough to send him a dirty glare. He chuckled. "Didn't realize you got quite so irritable when you were in pain, lass." Something occurred to him then, and he wrapped the cut on her arm in a bandage with a thoughtful expression. "I thought you spoke to Vex before you went?"

"And let me tell you, she was just about as helpful as a dagger against Alduin," Eletta mumbled. "She didn't say anything about the fact that there were guard towers or the fact that there were so many locks. I nearly broke all of my damn lockpicks trying to get the fucking safe open, wasted Talos knows how many trying to open the door to the basement before I realized one of the hired bandits had the key…"

"She didn't give you the blueprints for the estate?"

Eletta's gaze darkened considerably, and Brynjolf could safely assume from her reaction that the answer was no. _I'll have to speak with Vex about that later,_ he noted. "There were blueprints?"

"Perhaps some added training is in order before I send you on your next job, hm?" He bandaged a particularly bad stab wound on her shoulder. "And some time to heal."

"I just need a night of sleep."

He fixed her with what he hoped was a stern, serious look. "That's an order."

Again, the woman snorted. "This is a guild of _thieves_, Brynjolf. There are no orders."

When he was done dressing her wounds, she shooed him out of the room so she could "just get some damn sleep". He assigned Tonilia to tend to her, hesitating just in the doorway on his way for that little talk with Vex. He'd thrown Eletta into the higher-risk jobs too fast, that much was certain. He hadn't bothered to keep tabs on her training or ask her teachers before giving her the Goldenglow job. He had seen her spark, her desire to do more than strong-arm Riften shop owners into paying their debt to the guild. It was classless, low-brow work, and she'd craved more. So when Vex came back from the job the first time empty handed and Mercer had handed off the responsibility on him, well, who better at the time than the hungry newcomer who wanted to prove her worth? He hadn't taken into account the possibility that security had been doubled, tripled even after Vex's attempt.

He had just expected the lass to be able to do it.

He'd heard the whispers, the rumors that the Dragonborn had returned to Skyrim in the form of a female Imperial. He'd watched the lass try to persuade the Riften guards when they asked for her to pay the "visitor's tax" and had watched her sell something that looked like scales at the Pawned Prawn. Still, for a woman so…small to be the legendary Dragonborn…

_Why did you join the Guild in the first place, lass?_

She lacked confidence in everything besides her archery. Niruin sang her praises at every turn, swearing up and down that her prowess with a bow was even better than his. Her other teachers, however, had less positive things to say. Vex, obviously, had trained the woman very little. What skills Eletta did have in regards to lockpicking either came naturally or were the result of hours of personal time spent practicing. When asked, Delvin would say she had determination, but her ability to remain undetected was less than desirable for a thief. As for Vipir and her pickpocket training…let's just say Brynjolf was glad they were reporting to him and not to Mercer.

He supposed in a way, her injuries were his fault. Had he bothered to ask her trainers these questions _before _assigning her Goldenglow, things would have gone differently. He sighed. His judgment was impaired with this one. He'd known she wasn't ready, known he should wait and let her finish her training, but she was just so _stubborn_. Well this time, if the lass wanted another job from him, she would get the approval of her teachers first.

_I'll tell Delvin to give her some small jobs, just enough to keep her adrenaline pumping and give her enough coin to be satisfied. _He nodded absently to himself. _Yeah, as if she'll really be satisfied with that…_

* * *

The Next Day

* * *

Eletta exhaled slowly, one hand perched behind her head, as she examined the item in her hand. It was a common soul gem, stolen from that wizard in Whiterun named Farengar. She hadn't needed to sneak, she'd simply hung back in the corner until Farengar left the room. Then she'd swiped it off his desk and walked calmly out of Dragonsreach. Almost all of her bows had some sort of enchantment, and she was in an annoyingly constant need of soul gems to recharge her weapons.

Eletta sat up, preparing to take stock of her items. She had a few things to sell to Tonilia, but one item was just for her. She placed the circlet on her head, looking into the mirror inside the wardrobe. Her face was dirty, scarred, her hair knotted and frizzy…the circlet, shining gold with large amethysts, was too feminine for her. Too _beautiful_ for her. She took it off and chucked it into the wardrobe, slamming it closed.

Tonilia only gave her two-fifty gold for her stolen goods, shooting her a disapproving look.

"Brynjolf wants you to stay put, heal up," the Redguard said.

Eletta shrugged, dropping the gold into a leather coin purse around her neck. "I'm fine. He acts like a scratch will kill me."

She left the Cistern, feeling strangely boxed in. Lydia had traveled back to Whiterun at the suggestion of her Thane. Eletta knew that her Housecarl was well aware of what she did underneath Riften. If it wasn't obvious by the type of jobs she was given, it was the armor. Despite the unlawful nature of her Thane's income, bless her soul, Lydia stuck by her, and that loyalty touched Eletta more than anything. At some point in their travels, Lydia had become her best friend. The Nord had seen her through her journey with the Companions, numerous meetings with the Greybeards, even an unsuccessful attempt at joining the College in Winterhold. She'd gone so far as to guard Eletta during the werewolf transformation, endangering her own safety.

Eletta was not new to combat, far from it. She'd lost count of how many dragons she'd slain, how many Draugr she'd slaughtered, how many bandits had tasted her arrow yet never seen her face. She'd traveled to every hold across Skyrim. She had scars and weapons and artifacts from all over, traveling in the shadows while civil war plagued the country. She'd even helped out quite a few Imperial camps, anonymously of course. No need to whip the warring armies in a stir over the Dragonborn getting involved.

The Companions had helped hone her skill with her bow, increase her abilities with a sword, but…

They'd fallen apart after Kodlak died. It was partly her fault, she supposed. She refused to be Harbinger in Kodlak's place, and after she cured him of the wolf spirit so he could ascend to Sovngarde, Vilkas and Farkas expressed their interest to be rid of lycanthropy as well. The successful purifying of their souls left only Aela and Eletta herself as remaining members of the Circle. Sensing Eletta's hesitance to take control, Aela stepped forward as Harbinger instead. Not long after that, Eletta had fled Jorrvaskr, not wanting to see the shame and disappointment in Aela's face when the woman discovered that her only remaining shield-sister also wanted the werewolf spirit gone…

She'd wandered back to Riften, her clothes ripped and fresh battle scars on her body, and for a second time the mysterious Nord named Brynjolf had offered her the opportunity to make more coin. Sneaky, fast gold, he'd promised her, and after months of bloody battles and betrayals and revenge…Well, stealing and running away sounded perfectly fine to her.

Training with the Companions had taught her face-to-face combat, fighting with honor…no wonder she was having trouble with Thieves Guild jobs. It was the complete opposite mindset. If she revealed herself to "fight with honor", she'd be murdered on the spot by some assassin in the shadows. Brynjolf had to understand, thinking the way the other Guild members did wasn't just a matter of training, it was a matter of reworking everything ingrained in her. So the question remained—and she was sure other members had asked it: Why had she joined the Guild in the first place?

The easy answer was she joined for the lack of bloodshed, the adrenaline rush of the jobs, the distinctly _lacking_ feel of family—after the Companions, she couldn't afford to invest in a feeling of belonging just yet. The more difficult answer, the answer she found if she really truly thought about it—

"I thought I told Tonilia you weren't to go anywhere until you were healed."

Eletta sighed, stopping in the middle of the street. The voice came from the shadows by the door to the Bee and Barb. "Is there anywhere in Riften I can get away from you?"

"No." He was trying to be stern with her, she knew, but she could also hear the slight grudging smile in his voice. "Go back to the Cistern or I'll have Dirge stand outside your room."

She rolled her eyes, brushing past him to open the Bee and Barb's door. "As if I'm frightened of Dirge. I just want a drink." She raised an eyebrow, holding the door. "Well? You coming?"

"Am I supposed to, lass?" He crossed his arms over his chest, fighting a smirk.

"Since you're going to follow me wherever I go anyway, might as well join me for a drink."

His smirk finally broke forth. "As long as you're buying. I never could turn down the promise of free mead."

* * *

She had never seen him smile so much before. It wasn't the mead's doing—he'd only had one and she knew firsthand it took much more than that to intoxicate the Nord. It wasn't even _her_ doing. Well, it almost had been in the beginning, she thought, trying not to sulk as she watched Brynjolf talking to the Black-Briar girl. Ingun, the stiff, was apparently very lively when drunk. She had consumed a bit too much of her family's product, and instead of prattling on about her alchemy, the young woman was leaning on Brynjolf and laughing at _every last thing _he said. Her tinkling laughter bounced around inside Eletta's skull, and she downed her second drink in an attempt to mask her disgust.

"Got anything stronger?" The Companions, Farkas in particular, had had a store of Nord mead, and by comparison the Black-Briar stuff was basically water. It didn't help that every useless swig of the drink put more coin in Maven's pocket.

Keerava stared at her for a minute. It had taken a while for the Argonian to warm up to her after one of the earliest Thieves' Guild jobs had been to collect on Keerava's debt. Now, they were just friendly enough that Keerava could tell something was off. Eletta hardly drank with the purpose of getting drunk—usually it was part of a ruse to loosen the tongue of a target with useful information or liven up a business proposition with a potential partner, which she had done on occasion when needing new armor or a polished sword.

"All I have in stock besides that is ale." The lizard woman took Eletta's empty mead bottle, discarding it below the counter. "You don't like the taste of ale."

Eletta winced, knowing the bartender was right, but said, "I'll have some anyways."

Keerava placed a bottle of ale in front of her. The young Imperial's shoulders tightened noticeably as Ingun began another bout of laughter, and she slammed her gold on the table with unnecessary force.

"Does it bother you that severely?" asked Keerava.

"Not at all." She took one gulp of ale, the pungent taste coating her tongue. She didn't even realize that her denial was pointless.

"Perhaps some air…" suggested the other woman. Her mouth curved up and she added thoughtfully, "Or a change of scenery…"

Eletta stood. "You know," she said with a small smile, "that reminds me. I think it's time I drop by my home in Whiterun for a bit, don't you, Keerava?"

Her accomplice in the matter shrugged. "Whatever you say, dear. I never keep track of _where_ you're going these days." She shot Eletta a wink. "Don't kill anyone or anything that doesn't have it coming."

Eletta paused, looking at Keerava's knowing smile, and took one last swallow of liquor. "Do I ever?"

* * *

A/N: Thoughts? Continue? Scrap? Go.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Next chapter is up, hopefully this will give a better picture of Eletta.

* * *

The dragon that attacked the Imperial Legion camp a day's travel from Riften was just too convenient. She stood over its body, huffing but triumphant, as she absorbed its soul. She hadn't had an opportunity to use her Shouts in a long while, needing stealth for all her missions—_stealth, bah…_—and it had felt so good to throw her anger into her voice. Her Unrelenting Force had stunned the dragon as it swooped down on her, actually knocking it out of the air until it plummeted face-first into the dirt. She had stressed her old wounds and added a few new ones. Once, the dragon's claws had slashed shallowly across her midriff, and its frost breath had sent shards of ice onto her left arm. She took quick stock of herself, downing a health potion that she knew would do nothing but stall the eventual medical help Lydia could provide in Breezehome. The camp's medic tried to inspect her, but she sent him away. There were soldiers with wounds fiercer than her own.

She paid the soldiers for one of their horses and rode west, ignoring the fact that she began to sway just slightly on the saddle. Night fell sooner than she'd hoped, wasting her second day of travel, and she cursed as she hopped off the steed. Her vision blackened for a second, and when she recovered she boiled water with which to clean her wounds.

_Lydia is going to kill me for letting them go this long_, she thought. She touched the areas gingerly, her skin red and inflamed around the injuries. A brisk cleaning and quick bandage gave her just enough comfort to allow for some sleep.

Sleep didn't come easy at nights in the Skyrim wilderness. She still remembered, very clearly, her first mission with the Companions. Farkas had left before her, arranging to meet her at Dustman's Cairn, and that first night she hadn't slept at all. There was something there, in the shadows, large and beastlike and—at least, she thought—circling her. If she attempted to sleep, if she so much as blinked, it would snatch her in its claws and Farkas would be alone at Dustman's Cairn, always wondering what had happened to that spunky little Companion wannabe—

Except, as she found out later, the beast had been Farkas. Farkas, in his werewolf form, had been guarding her, keeping a watchful eye on her so that she might get a wink of sleep before delving into the Nordic crypt. Eletta smiled. Even in that first mission, before he even really knew her, he had been so kind to her. When she had first witnessed his change, during the Silver Hand attack in one of the central chambers, she had been terrified he would turn on her and rip the ancient metal gate right out of the opening. Instead, he had run to the lever that freed her, morphed back, and then apologized profusely for scaring her.

Thoughts of Farkas, the other Companions, and even Vilkas filled her head. She wondered how they were now, after being separated from their wolfish curse. A sense of relaxation befell her as she remembered the nights she and the brothers joked with Kodlak over a drink by the fire. She tucked her sword under her arm, fingers curled lightly around the hilt, and closed her eyes.

* * *

She set out that morning at dawn, arriving midday at the familiar Whiterun gate. The guards eyed her new armor with caution, but at her weak smile—weak, for health potions were not helping her ailment anymore—they greeted her warmly and allowed her inside. Breezehome was just a few more paces from there.

She dropped her key on the table, shucking off her armor with a groan. Her weapons—dual-wielded ebony swords with fire enchantments, and of course her faithful soul-trapping bow—were deposited on the rack beside the bookshelf. Her muscles ached, her wounds throbbed, her skin was on fire, and she was starving.

"Your perception is awful."

She had sensed the presence in the room and had chosen to ignore it. More pressing matters to attend to. _What, is he fucking stalking me now? _she thought bitterly. She grabbed an apple off the table to settle her growling stomach, calling up the stairs for her Housecarl. "Lydia? I need bandages and hot water and…bring me some of that salve from Arcadia, will you? I think I may need that too."

Only now did she face the owner of the voice, biting a chunk out of the apple before tossing it to him. He caught it with ease. He always showed up where she didn't want him. _Always_. She watched his expression carefully. "I know I was half a day later than usual, but how'd you get here before me?"

"You tell me." His wry smile vanished, jaw nearly dropping. She thought at first it was because she was only in a chest binding and small linen skirt, a loincloth really, until he said, "By the gods, lass, what happened?"

She looked down at herself, seeing the angry tears in her flesh. Her midriff had swelled where it was sliced, scarlet with blood and infection. "Dragon," she answered shortly. Her Housecarl bounded down the stairs, put a pot of water of the fire pit in the center of the room, and took brief stock of the other woman before gently pushing Eletta into a chair. Brynjolf watched the Nord woman tending to her Thane with an unreadable expression.

"Why did you let it get this bad, Eletta?" Lydia murmured, dropping the formalities for a split second.

"Didn't have the inventory," Eletta mumbled back in response.

"I should have been with you."

"It was a blood dragon, Lydia, nothing difficult." When she saw her Housecarl's face, she changed her tone. "It would have been nice to have your assistance nonetheless, friend. Always better with you by my side in battle."

That appeased Lydia, and she nodded. Eletta's eyes closed soon after that, her head lolling to the side as she lost consciousness. Lydia directed her attention to Brynjolf, waving him over impatiently. "Make yourself useful instead of gawking," she said. "Take her upstairs and lay her down."

He did as the woman ordered, and Lydia prepared what was looking like surgical tools at the Dragonborn's bedside. Her eyes were soft as she watched her unconscious Thane. "She welded these herself, out of blacksmithing tools she was given by a friend in Riverwood. She doesn't actually smith much anymore. Never has the time for it. She was always getting hurt, having to ask me to sew up her deeper cuts, so she figured the tools would get more use this way."

"A friend in Riverwood?" Brynjolf asked.

"That's all she would say. Only mentioned his name once. Alvor, I think."

Brynjolf nodded as the woman heated and sanitized her tools in the boiling water. "You've known her longer than I," he said slowly. "Does she come home like this often?"

"Usually I'm with her, but if you're concerned about her injuries, these are shallow." She saw his doubtful expression. "Scratches, actually, when compared. She's had worse." Her face darkened considerably. "Much worse. She comes out of a battle, dragons especially, in a state so similar to this that it's become almost…routine."

She wiped sweat from the woman's brow, smoothed some salve from a ceramic jar onto the gashes on her stomach. "Infected," she muttered. "Always comes home infected. I wonder, Eletta, do you bathe in a marsh before you come home, just for me?" She sighed. "We have to wake her up. She needs to be awake and coherent so she can tell me if she feels any pain. If the area has gone numb, we'll need someone more experienced than I doing this surgery."

"I thought you said this was no big deal, just a scratch."

Lydia's eyes narrowed at being challenged. "The wound itself. Infection is another monster."

She lifted her Thane's head, slipping a corked concoction past her lips. The Imperial's eyes fluttered open and she began to retch. "Easy now," Lydia soothed. "Don't strain."

As her breathing began to even out, she was in danger of falling back into oblivion. Lydia turned quickly to Brynjolf. "You must keep her mind busy, keep her mildly alert. I want her at least a little distracted while I sew her up, but she has to feel it so I know we don't have a larger problem at hand."

The large man, immediately out of his element, cleared his throat.

"This is what you signed up for by storming into our home unannounced, demanding to speak with her," Lydia snapped. "Now get her attention."

"Lass?" Eletta's head drifted to him, her forehead furrowed and coated in sweat. She hissed in pain as Lydia pressed on her stomach lightly, but then again, the woman had told him pain was a good sign. "You remember that time in Solitude? The job from Delvin? I took you for a celebratory drink at the Winking Skeever after our minor heist and you spilled your mead on me."

Eletta released a breath that might have, under different circumstances, been a laugh. "I remember throwing it on you…because you said something cheeky. I also remember…you punching Sorex Vinius."

The tug and pull of Lydia's needle and the pain accompanying it was making breathing difficult. She held it each time any pressure was applied to her stomach, even mid-sentence.

"He was trying to kick us out."

"You, not us," she corrected wryly. "I wasn't the one drinking half…his father's supply of…liquor."

"You certainly helped, lass," he said, nudging her uninjured arm with a grin. This action earned him a stern glare from her acting doctor. "I paid for it, didn't I? Who cares how much I drink so long as I have the gold. Besides, Sorex was making wise cracks at you."

"Much like…you do." Her eyes finally opened to give him a look. Even half unconscious and in insurmountable amounts of pain, she had the energy to mock him.

"That's me, lass. Only I'm allowed to do that."

* * *

Brynjolf smoothed back the lass's hair, damp with sweat and water, and heaved an impatient sigh. He hadn't anticipated being stuck in Breezehome playing nurse. The Guild, Mercer especially, was probably getting anxious. Perhaps pissed, even. Yes, he would have quite the handful to deal with once he got back…

Every time he stood with the intention of leaving, Lydia would send him a glare he was sure would spark his clothes aflame, and he would promptly sit back down at Eletta's bedside. He'd been mopping the comatose young woman's brow for three days now as the infection first worsened and then began to gradually fade away. Lydia's normally calm façade showed the shadow of concern when her Thane still didn't awaken on that third day.

"It's your fault, you know," she snapped at him once.

"My fault?" His voice rose with tension and unease. "How is it my fault that the lass goes gallivanting around slaying dragons without a hint of caution or fear for her safety?"

"Intuition. She's reckless but not stupid. It's your fault."

He stopped his argument short, pausing to give it a moment's thought. Was it his fault? She was constantly trying to please him, striving for his approval. He hadn't been blind to the way she pushed herself around him, and the other members of the Guild had noticed how much harder she worked at a job when it was for him instead of Delvin or Mercer. He stood up again from his chair, rubbing his temples, and when Lydia directed her gaze at him, he said quickly, "Just stretching my legs."

He wandered slowly through the halls of the house. It was small, furnished modestly, but it was cozy. He knew there were grander, larger houses—Proudspire Manor in Solitude was for sale, along with Vlindrel Hall in Markarth, Hjerim in Windhelm, even Honeyside in Riften—and he knew she could afford such houses. So why she had chosen Breezehome, _Whiterun_, as her one and only residence, especially with the way she traveled…

"Is that a Companion shield?" asked Brynjolf, pointing at the shield on the wall. It stood proudly above the stairwell.

Lydia, who was polishing her Thane's swords, simply nodded.

"The lass never told me she's a Companion."

"She's not, not anymore," said Lydia. Her expression changed, the battle-drawn lines on her face filling with melancholia foreign to the woman's look. "There are a lot of things I'm sure Eletta hasn't told you."

* * *

A/N: Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: next up. :)

* * *

The next day Eletta awoke almost fully healed, chuckling under her breath when she saw Brynjolf standing at the foot of her bed. "You look very much the part of an angry employer," she said, her first words in four days. "Do I really displease you that much?"

She attempted to sit up, Lydia springing to action to keep her from doing so. "Don't move yet, my Thane. Your wound is—"

"Nonsense, I'm fine. I want to go to the window."

_The lass is stubborn as ever._ Brynjolf smiled, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to relax his stance as he suggested, "Why don't we go for a walk?"

"Got to keep the horse in prize-winning shape, right?" A flash of worry spread across the young woman's features, worry he could not place. There was no reason for it. "The three of us? Just to Dragonsreach and back? I'd like to speak with Balgruuf, it's been ages since I saw him last." She looked to Lydia as if for permission.

The Housecarl knew how pointless it was to do anything other than agree.

"I should be getting back to Riften."

Eletta somehow found the nerve, and the energy, to glower at Brynjolf. "You mean the Guild. Of course, I forgot how _indispensable_ you are to Mercer. Go on then."

Brynjolf hesitated. Then he slipped an arm around her shoulders and assisted her out of the bed despite her hard-headed attempts to shrug off his help. "After the walk, lass."

* * *

Whiterun was beautiful. No one saw it, not even Lydia, but Eletta saw it. The small, interwoven array of houses, the market and its stores, even the overwhelming shadow of Dragonsreach. This was where she felt at home, and its effect on her was immediate.

Lydia stood at her side, Brynjolf just behind them, as they walked from Breezehome to the market. She felt naked in a dress instead of her armor, but Lydia had been stern about not putting it back on just yet. She needed to heal completely first.

She froze at the top of the stairs leading to the Wind District, stopping so suddenly that Brynjolf walked into her back. "Lass? Something wrong?"

She was staring across the courtyard at a female Nord garbed in Companion armor. As the woman registered her and began to walk towards her, Eletta shot a panicked look at Lydia. "Let's just go, I can talk to Balgruuf tomorrow."

"She's already seen you," reasoned Lydia.

Brynjolf was floored. Eletta, the fearless Dragonborn, was terrified of someone.

"Whiterun isn't a big town. You'll have to face her sooner or later, Eletta."

Eletta turned around, scrambling when she discovered Brynjolf blocking her escape. "Later, I choose later—"

"Hello, Eletta."

The woman flinched visibly, facing forward. "Hello…Aela." She cleared her throat. "How…How have you been?"

"I've been well, actually." The red-haired Nord adopted a small smile. "You've…domesticated since we last spoke."

She was referring of course to the Imperial's civilian dress and Brynjolf's large, strong hand currently in the small of her back. She knew it was for reassurance, but to Aela it must look like…

"No, no, I'm not—"

"Vilkas will be…interested to hear."

"Vilkas?" Eletta's face regained some of its color, the man's name said in a tone Brynjolf decided immediately he didn't like. "You've been in contact?"

"Of course," said Aela. "The brothers returned shortly after you left."

"They…They did?"

Aela nodded. "They train the new blood now."

"New blood?"

"I've been rebuilding the Companions since your departure."

Eletta could read between the lines. The Nord was rebuilding the Circle. She bit her lip. "Aela, I'm—"

"Don't apologize, Eletta. I know why you did it." Aela looked to Eletta's two companions. "Come, Lydia and…"

"Brynjolf," he supplied stiffly. He was utterly confused, but it was clear that talking with this woman had upset the lass a great deal.

"Brynjolf," repeated Aela. "Were you on a schedule? Why don't you come back with me to Jorrvaskr? I'm sure Farkas and Vilkas will want to see you, Eletta."

"Yes," Eletta breathed. "Yes, I want to see them."

Brynjolf frowned, realizing her sudden eagerness to see those two men was something he disliked. Disliked very much. Almost as much as he disliked the way her eyes lit up when they walked into Jorrvaskr and a broad-shouldered beast of a man ran forward to lift her in a hug.

"Farkas, put me down," she said, laughing. "If you squeeze too hard 'round my middle it'll bust my stitches."

The man, Farkas, pulled back in concern. "You're injured?"

"Dragon, nothing serious." Her grin took over her entire face.

Lydia, who was speaking to a slighter man with similar features to Farkas, snorted. Eletta stuck her tongue out and the usually solemn woman cracked a smile. Brynjolf shifted awkwardly, seemingly forgotten. The lass was much more comfortable here than he had ever seen her. She never laughed like this with the Guild. Even despite the discomfort and tension between her and the woman Aela, she looked at ease. She belonged here. This particular epiphany caused a tightening in his chest.

"Letta." The man with Lydia directed his silvery eyes to the Imperial.

"Vilkas," she smiled.

Their embrace was more tender and, it seemed to Brynjolf, lasted much longer. Vilkas stroked back her hair, face buried in her shoulder.

"It's been a long time," she whispered.

"Almost a year." His voice was gruff next to her ear. "You've changed."

"You haven't." She felt tears clogging her voice. "She hates me, Vilkas."

Aela had been her closest friend besides Lydia. Her sister. With the deaths of Skjor and Kodlak, the departure of the twins, and the Silver-Hand attack, she had lost her family. Lost her home. Then she had left to rid herself of the wolf spirit, and she knew she was losing her sister.

"Letta, you will never cease to be her shield-sister. She could never hate you." His grip on her momentarily tightened. "And you will always have a home here."

He could read her easily, just as he always had, and he had felt her discomfort. He knew she felt like she had lost where she belonged. She crumbled then, crying in earnest. Lydia watched, relieved that her Thane's emotional burden was lifted, and Aela put her hand on Lydia's shoulder as a way of completing the reconciliation. Suddenly, Brynjolf burst out with, "Can someone please tell me what in Oblivion is going on?"

Eletta separated from Vilkas. "Oh, gods, I'm sorry." She wiped hurriedly at her face, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Farkas, Vilkas, this is Brynjolf, my—"

"Mate," supplied Aela.

"Stalker," corrected Lydia.

"Babysitter slash boss." Eletta shot both women a glare. "Most definitely not my mate."

Farkas was laughing heartily. "I can't imagine you ever marrying, Eletta."

Vilkas grunted, but beneath the dirt she saw his face twinge pink. Eletta's smile stayed, but Brynjolf's interruption reminded her that this wasn't a happy reunion. She was part of the Guild now. She was a thief. She had no place with the Companions anymore. With this thought came the cold wave of hopelessness she'd grown used to in the last year. She didn't belong with normal people—she was the Dragonborn. Her job was to save the world. Alone. She didn't belong with the Companions. She didn't belong in the Thieves' Guild. She didn't belong with the Greybeards. She wasn't a dragon, she wasn't even fully human! She was filled with a renewed, fresh sense of disparity, and though she was thrilled to be in the presence of the brothers, she knew it was short-lived.

"Brynjolf, this is Farkas, his twin brother Vilkas, and Aela the Huntress. I know I never told you, but I used to be part of the Companions," she said quietly.

Brynjolf knew instinctively he had done something wrong, broken the spell of her happiness, and he cursed silently. He was torn between feeling guilty, being angry at her for keeping things from him, and his perpetual sense of duty to the Guild that was telling him he needed to leave for Riften in the next ten minutes.

Farkas walked over, exuberantly extending his hand towards Brynjolf, while his brother sized him up. Vilkas's expression slowly formed into a scowl as he recognized the Thieves' Guild armor.

"I see you've…realigned yourself," he said to Eletta.

She winced slightly. "You noticed. If it makes you feel any better, I'm lousy at it." She gestured at where bandages caused the fabric of her dress to stretch. "Not all of these are from dragon attacks, Vilkas."

"Why them?" he asked. "Of all the factions in Skyrim, why them?"

"C'mon, brother, don't make her answer that," Farkas muttered good-naturedly. "She doesn't owe us anything."

"Don't welcome her back so and then pull it out from under her," whispered Aela. "It's cruel."

Lydia had taken a protective step forward, towards her Thane. Brynjolf straightened his back. "What do you have against my organization?"

"Everything you stand for, _thief_." Vilkas growled, low under his breath. Eletta was quiet, staring at the floor. "You have no honor. There is no such thing as trust in your world. Everyone is out for themselves."

"Vilkas, stop, please." Eletta, however was looking at Brynjolf as she spoke. "Go home to the Cistern, Brynjolf. I know you're anxious to get back. Your mind is never off the Guild for more than a few minutes. You don't have to be subject to this."

Brynjolf felt the tension in his shoulders bringing about a headache. He was out of his element here. He knew none of them, one was prejudiced against Brynjolf's path, and the lass was sending him away. He steeled himself against the strange emotions and nodded stiffly. "I'll see you when you return to Riften." He eyed her wounds. "Don't return unless you've healed, lass. Take it easy."

"Come," said Aela, gently taking Eletta's arm. "Let's have some mead and eat by the fire. Like old times." She shot Vilkas a look over the young woman's shoulder.

Brynjolf showed himself out of Jorrvaskr, walking at a brisk pace toward Whiterun's front gates. Before he reached it, however, a courier ran up to him.

"Are you Brynjolf?" the courier gasped out.

"Yes."

"A letter for you, sir."

He took the letter, paid the man, and tore it open with a quick flick of his wrist.

_Brynjolf,_

_It has come to my intention you've run off to Whiterun. Coincidentally, it seems, so has our new recruit. You must understand how it appears to us, but I have put the numerous rumors to rest as I am assured of your dedication to the Guild and the Guild alone. No doubt you have some business in Whiterun, as that is why I'm hoping you're there, but just in case, the following details are your newest job. Take care of it before you return, hm?_

_Mercer_

* * *

A/N: suspense! any thoughts?


	4. Chapter 4

For a few short, beautiful hours, everything was as it should be. Her friends surrounded her, the mead flowed freely and the fire was warm. She laughed like she had not a care, and by the end of the night Vilkas had his arm around her, and his comforting warmth allowed her to pretend that no time had passed.

"Stay here, with us," begged Farkas when she stood to leave. "Be a Companion again."

She wanted _so badly_ to say yes. To revert to the way things used to be. And that might work, might be fine for a week or two. In the long run, however…

"I've run my course as a Companion," she whispered. She left them while her will was strong, but Vilkas stopped her just outside the mead hall.

"Just tell me, why did you join the thieves?" He cupped her face, forced her to look at him. Lydia had already gone home, left her Thane to her reminiscing.

"Vilkas…"

His gaze was intense, demanding. "Did you join for him?"

She searched his eyes. She had no answer for him, and maybe he knew that. Maybe he knew that while she loved her shield-siblings, she no longer felt at home in Jorrvaskr. It no longer welcomed her, invited her as it had before. She had lost that with the Silver Hand attack and had banished it forever along with her beast spirit. As much as it pained her, that chapter of her life had closed on itself and given her no choice but to move on. He kissed her then, his caress so full of the promises of the past. When they parted, she cried, because she knew in the morning she'd have to be strong again, and cast these weak thoughts out of her mind. She was the Dragonborn after all. No one would take her seriously if she cried.

* * *

Surely Lydia understood now why she avoided Whiterun for months on end. She woke that morning feeling drained but newly resolved. She was a thief, and she would push herself and work until she was one of the best. If she focused her sadness, her aimlessness, and directed her energy, she could accomplish this. Maybe, in the process, even find out where she fit in the world…

She set out alone for Dragonsreach, intending to speak with Jarl Balgruuf. She had promised him an update on the dragon situation. Lydia remained at home, allowing her Thane time to think. Eletta took the long way around, not wanting to run into the Companions. Her mind dwelled on Vilkas's kiss. It wasn't the first time he had kissed her, and the last time had been his way of saying goodbye. During her days with the Companions, she had suspected that this stoic brother had feelings for her. Farkas hinted at it almost constantly, but Vilkas never made a move until the night they left. She had just freed him from the beast spirit when he informed her of his and his brother's plan to leave, and he had cupped her face and pressed his lips to hers, begging her to come with him. But she hadn'tadded gone with him, couldn't go with him. He had wanted to settle down, have a wife, have children. She couldn't give him that. It would be irresponsible for her, as the Dragonborn, to have children. No matter how she wished she could, how she desperately wanted that life, she couldn't have it as long as Alduin breathed. It would be selfish of her to take that away from Vilkas.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. There was more to worry about than her fading friendship with the Companions. It had been three years since the attack at Helgen. She'd worked hard to build up the reputation of the Dragonborn, to defeat the Elder Dragons as they were resurrected, to train herself in every aspect in order to be a well-rounded fighter competent enough to take on Alduin. She hadn't given much thought to the Civil War, but as the years passed it began to involve her more. Her contacts were beginning to ask whose side she stood on, which cause she sympathized with. Soon, she knew, she'd have to think about that.

* * *

Dragonsreach was not as lively as when she last visited. There had been a feast last time she had entered this hall, laughing and cheers and music. Now it was nearly empty, just a few scarce guards, Farengar, Irileth, and the Jarl himself. She set her lips in a thin line, fingers itching towards her side where she had slung her ebony sword, as Irileth stepped forward in an immediate offensive pose. The Dunmer had never been fond of her. Eletta forced herself to relax, lift her hands away from her weapon, and smile. The Jarl's Housecarl didn't move.

Balgruuf noticed her then, a grin exploding on his face. He stood, striding over to her in four large Nord steps, and pulled her up from her hasty bow. She would never get used to his reactions at her arrival. He was so kind, so overly friendly to her that she often forgot he was a Jarl. He could be cruel, ruthless even—she had witnessed firsthand his bouts of anger—but he never spoke to her any harsher than you would a frightened rabbit. The other Jarls of the nine Holds were either very formal as with Elisif or very short tempered as with Laila and Korir. It wasn't helped by her race—as she was an Imperial, those Jarls sympathetic to the Stormcloak cause were less than thrilled with her.

"Some mead for you, Dragonborn? A sweetroll? How goes the fight?" He laughed boisterously. "Excuse an old man's excitement. Sit down, won't you?"

They sat at his feasting table while he waved over his servants to bring refreshments. In truth, her stomach growled at his mention of a sweetroll. "You're no old man Balgruuf, or I'm a Falmer's mother."

"An old man no, but certainly so around a youth such as yourself." He took a good-natured swig of mead and bit a large chunk of bread. Eletta hungrily eyed the sweetroll as it was placed in front of her. "Tell me, quickly, what of the dragons?"

The reappearance of the dragons in Skyrim sparked in him an almost childlike curiosity that Eletta found endearing. She smiled, tearing a piece of the sweetroll in an attempt to be dainty. She hadn't had something sweet since those sugared snowberries from the Windpeak Inn all those many months ago when she was staying in Dawnstar. She sighed, content, as the sugar melted on her tongue.

"The dragons are being resurrected by their leader, the World-Eater, Alduin," she said. Balgruuf leaned forward excitedly. "My…contact believes it to be the work of the Thalmor." _Delphine. That blind, stubborn, troll of a woman._

He observed her for a moment. "I take it you have a different theory."

Eletta hesitated before speaking with a slow deliberation. "The dragons are intelligent. They can speak, they have their own language, they _understand_ language…Some of them that I've slain…even have names."

"Names?"

"Mirmulnir, Sahloknir, and Nahagliiv," she all but whispered. "The three named dragons I've killed. Resurrected by Alduin while I watched and slain by my arrow…"

Balgruuf nodded, his expression and tone even. "You respect the creatures."

"They are evil," she said shortly. "They wish for our destruction because of Alduin's influence. They yearn for power. But…"

"But?" Balgruuf urged.

Eletta looked him in the eye, feeling suddenly small and naïve. "They can't all be corrupt, can they?"

Balgruuf smiled and said, "You'd know more about that than I, Eletta. I have no more knowledge on dragons than you have on men."

The woman scowled heavily, her eyes narrowing. "I have plenty of knowledge on men!"

The Jarl's laughter at her indignation overflowed the halls of Dragonsreach.

* * *

A/N: a big short. i'm a little disheartened at the lack of response for this. sadface.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Contains a small helping of M-rating. Nothing to graphic. Just a warning!

* * *

He hadn't meant for things to go this way. It certainly hadn't worked out how he'd originally planned, but this would work too.

The job had been a simple enough assignment. Steal the Unusual Gem from the Jarl's room, plant it on Nazeem, and be on his merry way. Except Dragonsreach had become a near impenetrable fortress, especially since Jarl Balgruuf had hired the resurrecting Companions as his additional guards. He needed to wait, gain information on their scouting patterns and shift changes, before he tried to strike.

Brynjolf had purposely kept it from the lass that he was still in Whiterun. He stayed in the shadows when he saw her at a distance and rented a room at the Bannered Mare instead of returning to Breezehome. There, outside the Bannered Mare, he'd seen the red-haired Nord again. The opportunity that presented itself had been as simple as that.

"Buy you a drink, miss?" he said.

Aela raised an eyebrow, her silver eyes widening. "Brynjolf? Eletta said you'd returned to Riften yesterday."

"I stayed a bit longer. Haven't you heard? There are dragons out there." He knew he had one foot in the door when the other woman cracked a smile.

"I can see her influence in you already," she said. "That sounds like something she'd say."

"Now, about that drink…?"

* * *

The Nord woman's tongue didn't get much looser with drink, her eyes taking him in with caution at his every subtle attempt to direct the conversation to her job with the Jarl. However, the mead certainly did serve to loosen her top…

He didn't want to like it when she rubbed herself up against him and then played it off. She adopted a coy smirk, her hand trailing over unspeakable places on his body, and he was abruptly reminded of how long it had been since he'd last had the time to lay with a woman…

"We don't have to be quick," she whispered in his ear, her words slurred only slightly. "I don't have to cover Ria's shift at Dragonsreach until dawn."

That, at least, was information he could use. He had seen Ria at Jorrvaskr—Eletta had pointed the other woman out. She was slight, fresh, and he could easily overpower her without needing to kill her. Ria would leave her post, thinking Aela was coming to cover her shift, while the other woman meanwhile was lying fast asleep in his bed…

The plan from there seemed utterly logical.

* * *

The sun had set when Eletta left the Jarl's company. He had requested she be present as his advisor for a few military meetings, the guards had asked to be regaled with her tales of battle, and then somehow Farengar had roped her into helping him move his Arcane Enchanter…She sighed, cracking her neck to try and relieve the kinks. There was only one last thing to accomplish before she could rest her aching muscles in her bed. Balgruuf had given her a piece of parchment with a list of shift changes for Aela and requested she deliver it on her way home. When she dropped by Jorrvaskr, however, the brothers informed her that the Nord was having a drink at the Bannered Mare.

_A bit farther out of the way, but…_

She jogged lightly up the steps to the Bannered Mare, walking into its warmth. She posed Hulda the question of Aela's whereabouts, and when the woman's gaze flickered toward the stairs, she lifted her hand in thanks and headed for them. She completely missed Hulda's half-hearted attempt to stop her.

The door to the Bannered Mare's only rentable room was cracked open the slightest bit. Eletta smiled a little. She had stayed here enough times before buying Breezehome to know that the lock on the door had a tendency to jam. If you didn't jiggle the handle as you closed the door, the lock would prevent the door from closing properly. There were two voices, one she recognized as Aela's, and the other one was male. Eletta chuckled. _Good for you, Aela, getting over Skjor. _She fully intended to let her friend have her fun. She would just leave the Jarl's notice by the door and—

"_Gods_, Brynjolf, so good—"

Eletta froze in her tracks. Surely she was hearing things. Brynjolf had left the day before, and even if he hadn't, Aela would never—Brynjolf would never—

Now that she listened, really listened, however, the male groans sounded familiar…She crept forward, until she could somewhat see through the crack created by the open door.

Aela's form, clear as day, was silhouetted above a prone Brynjolf. She straddled him, moving wildly, his large hands easily and visibly outlined on her slim hips. Eletta let the paper flutter to the ground, ice filling her stomach. She didn't want to watch this any longer. This was private. This was intimate. This was…this was…

_Brynjolf and Aela._

* * *

For some reason, he just…wasn't feeling it. The woman was pleasing to look at, pleasing to feel, but from the moment they began a sort of discomfort filled him to where it masked the pleasure he knew he should obtain from this. It was decidedly unsatisfactory. Perhaps if her hair had been longer, a different color…golden, even…her skin softer, more supple, like—

_Banish those thoughts right now, Brynjolf._

He was going through the motions, but luckily the intoxicated woman moving atop him hadn't noticed. So distracted was his mind from the actual task at hand that when the wood flooring of the hallway creaked just barely and the quiet flap of paper was heard from outside the door, he turned his head to see a pair of azure eyes staring at him. His movements ceased abruptly, but Aela at that moment tilted her head back and all but screamed his name as she came undone. She collapsed beside him, exhausted, but he could not remove his gaze from the eyes in the hallway. They shone with fury, hatred, and a sheen of betrayal that ripped his breath from his lungs. He sat up, mouth opening—to say her name, to apologize, or simply to gawk, he didn't know—but she was gone in a flash.

* * *

From the moment the cold night air hit her face, her anger burned at her. She needed to get out of Whiterun _now_. If she didn't, if one of the guards so much as looked at her on the way out, well…she couldn't be held accountable for the destruction she'd cause. She made it halfway to the abandoned Western Watchtower—abandoned since Mirmulnir attacked—before she exploded.

"FUS RO DAH!" she screamed. The plants swayed and a tree crashed to the ground. In the distance, the Western Watchtower shook. "YOL TOOR!" Now the plants were ablaze. She didn't find the same satisfaction. She needed to hit something.

She burst into a run, leaping from a rock and landing hard. The pain did little to remove that feeling. She saw it then, the mammoth that wandered around the bog just behind the watchtower. She drew her sword and let loose another Shout.

* * *

When Eletta returned to Whiterun several hours later, her anger spent, her armor covered in blood, and her soul gems filled with the Grand Souls of four mammoths, the guards were in an uproar. Nazeem, apparently, had been caught attempting to steal an Unusual Gem from Dragonsreach. They had found him at the foot of the stairs with the gem in his pocket. As they hauled him away, his wife glaring from the door of the Drunken Hunstman, he was shouting that he didn't do it. No one had ever really liked Nazeem, so while no one jumped to his aid, Eletta could see that a good portion of people at least suspected that he had been framed. Across the way, she caught the attention of a pair of green eyes. She had seen his face enough after a job to recognize when he had completed something and it had gone according to plan. She threw back her head and laughed.

* * *

A/N: It's a little choppy but I did that on purpose. Review please :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Ugh, this is so short. _ I'm sorry, I really am. I've gotten carried away with writing my Vilkas fic (which is what I feared would happen) and have hit a small hump in my inspiration for Brynjolf. Anyway, I hope this will tide you all over while I work out the kinks!

* * *

Brynjolf paced the length of the Cistern. He didn't look at anyone, he didn't speak to anyone. He left only to complete his jobs for Mercer. He was angry all the time—angry, Vex supposed, because Mercer had chewed him out when their newest recruit hadn't come back.

"Maven wants a word with her," Mercer had growled when Brynjolf returned without the girl. "I don't think Black-Briar will take too kindly to being kept _waiting_."

Well, if Black-Briar was still waiting, that woman had waited a week. They'd sent a courier to Eletta's home in Whiterun, but he had come back with the offending letter pinned to his chest with a dagger.

So when she did return, that sloppy so-called Dragonborn wench, Vex half expected Mercer to skewer her. Vex was instead shocked by the difference on the woman's face. She stood taller, dried blood smeared on her cheek from a recent cut, and she walked right up to Mercer's desk and said, "Miss me, boss?"

Mercer was, as expected, scowling. "Where in Oblivion have you been?"

"Doesn't matter." Vex did a double take at her tone. "Got a job or should I just come back later?"

"You're late enough," he snapped. "Maven wanted to see you. If you're lucky enough that she's still waiting. I half expect she has a bounty on your head by now."

Eletta shrugged, leveling her gaze at him. "Won't hurt the old hag to wait a little. Patience is a virtue."

Mercer grabbed her arm. His eyes narrowed even further. "_Don't_ address her so rudely."

"Yes, _sir,_" she said deliberately, clucking her tongue at him. It brought his attention momentarily to her mouth, but he tore away from her.

"Just go," he growled.

Brynjolf stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Don't you think, Mercer, that before we send her off on whatever plan Maven's concocted, we should—"

"She's not qualified," interrupted Vex, crossing her arms.

"Not _qualified_?"

Brynjolf watched as the lass's self-control slipped surprisingly easily. She usually had a better hold on her anger than this. She strode up to Vex, gave the cold woman a shove to the shoulder, and said, "I seem to remember completing a job that you'd bungled yourself not days before. Completed it while contending with twice the security and no knowledge of the layout, mind you, because _someone_ didn't think it would be helpful to hand over the _fucking blueprints._"

"Don't touch me," Vex muttered back darkly. "And don't think that just because you're supposedly the Dragonborn that you are somehow better than—"

"I dare you to do what I do!" Eletta roared, ancient voices of anger hissing within her head. Her eyes flashed gold—if she wasn't careful, she knew, the souls within her would take over. She didn't care. Suddenly the entire Cistern was silent. "Sure, it must be so _difficult _for you, living amongst people who know you and who trust you, to know that when you return from a job you have somewhere to go that you _belong _in, stealing items and bribing guards and never venturing outside The Rift. I have it so easy, don't I? I don't have to deal with anything except ancient long-dead dragons and the fate of the entire world and a fucking civil war nipping at my heels and _every bleeding faction in Skyrim demanding my assistance._"

Mercer was grinding his teeth, jaw tight through her outburst. "Can you both finish this quarrel later? Eletta has work to do."

Eletta's chest was heaving with the force of her shouts. Her voice even now echoed through the caverns, and the water rippled from her anger. That voice, Brynjolf knew, the smooth tone usually contained in her words, could take down a dragon. Now, the entire guild had heard just how. He took another step forward, reaching back to nudge the seething Vex away. Slowly, ever so slowly, she counted to ten. The voices within her quieted.

"Lass," he said, attempting to soothe her, "I think I know what this is really about, and I apologize—"

She surprised him again by laughing. "Oh that's just like you, Brynjolf, to assume that I'm upset about you. Don't flatter yourself, darling, I couldn't care less."

* * *

When Maven informed her none too kindly about her new assignment, Eletta was torn between being amused or incredulous. Really. The woman was asking her to poison her competitor's mead? _Shall I spit-shine your shoes next, ma'am? _So here she was, in the caverns beneath Honningbrew Meadery, dodging magical shock attacks, nearly slipping in the puddles of Skeever blood and stumbling over their bodies. She wished briefly she had allowed Lydia to accompany her. The look of concern that flashed across Lydia's face was not lost on her Thane when she told Lydia to sit this one out. Lydia could plainly see the other woman's anger and knew her well enough to know that a reckless Eletta was often a fatally-wounded Eletta. Especially when she fought alone.

It was actually fairly insulting. She was the fucking Dragonborn, after all. This job didn't require stealth or grace or even secrecy. She had listened to Mallus, pretended to be his good little errand-girl, and had lied rather convincingly to Sabjorn. From there on out, she could be as clumsy and violent as she pleased.

Clumsy and violent and brutal and uncouth and _I can't believe he slept with Aela_—

She swung her arm in the dim cavern, feeling more than anything else as her blade finally caught the figure of Hamelyn. It must have struck a major artery—she felt some warm fluid spray her face and neck, and the attacks stopped coming. She took a second to catch her breath, picking up any bounty she noticed from his body; she tucked the journal she'd found into her clothes, and sped away through the cavern to complete her task.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Finally wrote some more for this!

* * *

Upon handing Maven the promissory note identifying Sabjorn's silent partner, the old hag had told her to report to Brynjolf. Eletta's heart skipped a beat uncomfortably at that, and she chose instead to report straight to Mercer. Brynjolf would have told her to take it to the Guildmaster anyway; she was just cutting out the middle man.

She jogged down the stairs of the Bee and Barb, nearly knocking down a man dressed in mage robes. She steadied herself and smiled at him. "Marcurio, I'm sorry, didn't see you."

Marcurio, the arrogant mage, smirked at her. "You'll just have to owe me one." At her pointed look, he chuckled. "It's fine. Your friend was looking for you, arrived just yesterday with a courier from Whiterun."

"Lydia?" Eletta stood on tiptoes to see over Marcurio's shoulder, causing him to chuckle again.

"She's speaking with Mjoll now." He gave her shoulder a fond squeeze, the most physical contact he ever gave her despite the months of traveling they'd done together in the length of their friendship. She let her fingertips brush over the back of his hand and gave him a warm smile.

She spied Lydia in the corner by the bar, having just finished a conversation with Mjoll, and Eletta nodded her head towards the doors. Lydia stood, understanding immediately, and paid Keerava. She followed just a few steps behind her Thane as Eletta led her to the cemetery, directly to the crypt in which sat the secret entrance to the Cistern. This was their routine, Eletta's attempt to keep Lydia from dirtying her reputation as much as possible. Once safely in the Cistern, she waited for the telltale signs of her friend approaching and then said, "What did the courier want?"

"Marcurio told you. Good," said Lydia, smiling in the dark. "Let's go farther in. This is claustrophobic, my Thane."

They did as Lydia requested, passing Rune and Cynric—both men nodded their acknowledgement, but Eletta knew they were both surprised at her speedy return, especially after she'd taken "so long" to complete the previous job. She smiled, at Rune specifically, and as she walked away she heard Cynric mutter something along the lines of, "Can't understand her."

Rune's very easily-understood reply was a cheerful, "She's the most confusing woman I've ever met."

Cynric gave his companion a strange look but shrugged it off. Eletta fought to hide her smile. Rune was always such a kind soul to her. A sweetheart, really. She turned to Lydia. "What news did the courier bring, friend?" she asked.

Smiling wryly, Lydia handed her a small wrapped parcel. "First things first. From Jarl Balgruuf, with his regards." Eletta took the package, looking at it curiously. What could Balgruuf have sent her? It was too small to be a weapon. "He sends his warmest regards and laments that your duty has pulled you from his company prematurely."

Eletta grinned at her language. Lydia returned the grin, continuing, "I promised I would relay the message verbatim, my Thane. He also requests that you find the time to assist the guards he sent to Riverwood—apparently they've been having some trouble with bandits and the guards are overwhelmed. He also fears it could be a target of the Stormcloak rebellion."

"Was this news brought via the courier?" Her fingers unwrapped the parcel from Balgruuf deftly. It was a sensitive matter, the rebellion, and she couldn't imagine Balgruuf being so naïve as to entrust information regarding it to a mere courier.

"No, he informed me of this directly as he knew I would be setting out to meet you here in Riften." Lydia sat down on Eletta's cot at her friend's urging. "He said the package was for your mission at the Thalmor Embassy."

Eletta groaned loudly. "I had forgotten about that."

"It's in a little over a week, my Thane," said Lydia with a smile, as if she knew the woman would forget. "He also suggested it would make you less suspicious if you brought an escort of the male persuasion. He volunteered himself, but I told him it would be very unwise should something go astray. He already knows too much about the plan to infiltrate the Embassy." Lydia sighed, settling back against the wall as Eletta finally revealed the Jarl's present. "I'm surprised you were stupid enough to inform him of it."

Eletta shrugged. "I trust him, Lydia. He has done nothing to warrant any less."

Her friend raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have to inform Mercer of your completed job?"

She waved the other woman off. "Later, Lydia, later." The package contained a dress, beautiful and embroidered with gold thread. Her breath caught in her throat, fingers ghosting over it. She was afraid to touch it lest she ruin the soft, silk fabric. Lydia glanced down at it and whistled approvingly.

"It will look beautiful on you, my Thane," she said. "You will have no problem obtaining a male escort wearing such a fine dress."

"I can't wear this," Eletta whispered. "I'll dirty it." The dress itself was a heavenly shade of royal purple, and she knew it would perfectly match the circlet shoved in the back of her wardrobe. How had Balgruuf known? The bodice was white, small jewels sewn into it, and the level of delicate detail was extraordinary. There was a note, handwritten from the Jarl: _I remember your woes concerning the clothes you would need for the party; I hope this garment is suitable to your purposes. If you should ever require anything, Eletta, please inquire. I am not just the Jarl of Whiterun; I am, and will always be, your friend._

Her throat clogged with emotion and she cleared it with a cough. Lydia watched her Thane's reaction to the letter carefully before saying, "He's in love with you."

Eletta bristled. "He is _not_—"

"Many people are in love with you, my Thane."

The other woman grumbled, placing the gown carefully in her dresser. "Well they ought to have their heads examined," she snapped. "I'm a fucking mess."

Mere seconds after she spoke, a male voice behind her said, "Hungry, Eletta?"

She turned her head as Rune tossed an apple her way. She caught it on reflex and took a bite, sighing in relief. She hadn't had an opportunity to eat during the whole of the job. "How'd you know?"

"That apples are your favorite?" Rune laughed boisterously. "You go for them before you even go for sweetrolls."

"Thanks, Rune," she said, taking another juicy bite. He nodded and walked away, grinning, and when she faced her friend again the other woman had a strange smirk. "Oh, Lydia, you don't think—"

"Prime example," the woman sung.

Eletta snorted. "As if, Lydia. What did the courier have to say?"

"An anonymous tip regarding the location of another word wall," said Lydia, handing her Thane the details. "We can leave at your discretion." Eletta read over the letter, her mind swimming. Lydia shot her a sympathetic look. "You're a very busy woman, Eletta."

"Tell me something I don't know." She folded the letter carefully, placing it in her pocket. "Comes with the title I suppose."

"I don't know why you allow so much on your plate at once."

"You say that as if I have a choice." She bit another chunk off the apple, placing her head in her hand. The mission at the Thalmor Embassy required immediate attention; it would take days to travel to Riverwood where Delphine had arranged a meeting to retrieve the necessary invitation to the party, days more to travel from there to Solitude where she was to meet Malborn. She didn't feel like making multiple trips to Riverwood, and Balgruuf had requested her immediate assistance with their bandit problem. The word wall, according to the tip, was located not far from Riften, in an ancient Nordic tomb called Forelhost. Then, of course, wherever Mercer decided to send her next. She doubted his patience would hold out long enough for her to complete her laundry lists of tasks first. It didn't seem too bad, if she rushed through it all: knock out the word wall first on her way out of Riften, cut straight across towards Riverwood—if she pushed herself and only stopped once to rest, probably in Ivarstead, she could make it there in two days—and, if she spent no more than three days in Riverwood, she could make it up to Solitude with a day to spare. That wasn't counting, however, whatever assignment the Guildmaster was apt to give her. Maybe she could convince him to just assign her something little in Solitude.

She heard a gruff voice bark out her name and bit back a sigh. _Speak of the devil_. "What do you need, Mercer?"

"Cynric said you'd returned." He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why didn't you report to me immediately?"

"I had other duties to consider as well." She dismissed Lydia with a nod of her head. The Nord woman eyed the Breton with a guarded expression before standing and leaving—she had never trusted the Guildmaster, and she got sour every time her Thane dismissed her. She only grudgingly realized Eletta was doing it to keep Lydia out of the mud as much as she could while still keeping the woman in her service. The less she knew, the better.

She stood to be on even ground with Mercer. It was difficult considering the man was nearly a foot taller than her. She squared her shoulders and met his eyes.

"Is that a problem?" she asked.

She moved to brush past him, but he grabbed her arm rather harshly and her breath caught. "Your loyalty should be first and foremost to the Guild," he snarled. "So yes, girl, if it isn't we have a problem."

"I'm doing my damn best to juggle about a million things right now," she spit back. "If you'd like to trade, I'll gladly give the Guild my full undivided attention, and you can kill dragons for a while."

His lips pulled back, baring his teeth like an animal. He released her arm. "Did you finish Maven's job?"

"Yes, the conniving old bitch is satisfied with my service."

His eyes narrowed further. "Learn to control your tongue, girl."

"I can control it very well actually." She hadn't meant for her words to come out so suggestive, but it served to throw him off a bit. "Anything for me to do? I've got quite the busy schedule, you see, so if you don't mind…"

Mercer growled. "I think I've found which of our old contacts is being used against us. His name is Gulum-Ei. Track him down in Solitude and see if you can pry any information from him."

Eletta pondered it briefly. It was actually a stroke of good fortune that he was in Solitude. "I can do that. I'll be in the neighborhood anyway."

"Good." Mercer, pacified by her acceptance of the job, stepped back. "Take Brynjolf with you, I can't risk this going south. If Gulum-Ei gets the feeling we're onto him, he could flee and tell his contacts before we even get to him."

Eletta fought back the urge to groan. _So much for a stroke of good fortune_. "I'm taking Lydia."

"I don't care if you take your guard dog, but Brynjolf goes too. Whatever problem you have with him, work it out."

With a curt nod that was probably meant as a dismissal, he walked off and left Eletta to sulk on her cot.

* * *

A/N: Thoughts?


End file.
